


The Colour of Passion and Blood

by ThinkingCAPSLOCK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingCAPSLOCK/pseuds/ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The light of freedom and prison is the same, flickering hue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colour of Passion and Blood

You slide on the ankle clamp, tighten the lock, and glance back at the table. Your books are still stacked neatly, far out of range - your stories hidden at the bottom, unfinished and unread. The legends passed to her from the meteor clamp on top, tablet balanced on both. You drift your eyes over your favourite pictures, Over your costume. A smile tugs on your face but you hush it down. Tears sting the corners of your eyes and you blink them back as well. 

A trickle of red, red light streams down, the sun fuming and blazing in the distance. A subtle flicker that reminds you that it's time to get to sleep. You drag your feet forward, watching the lime and red stripes dance in your vision. The chains clank and shift behind you, and you drag your feet across the room. Each step is an effort, and you strain. You glance over your shoulder. 

Roxy's viewport is still open on your computer, blackened out. Your wig sits crumpled - you should have brushed it out, and there's a crack in your one horn, and really, that's no place for your gloves. The chess pieces are still hiding on the floor under your desk. You stop. You should fix this little mess. 

The chains clank. The red, red light flickers. You start walking again. 

Eons pass before you reach your bed, and you slide on, head resting on the lime spiral. it is cold and uncomfortable, and for minutes you shift, the crashing of chains and grunts of effort filling the air. You check your nails. You pull the lid back, fitting it securely, removing it, and placing it on a second, third time. 

You stare at the darkened ceiling, eyes wide. 

You do not want to sleep. Your eyes are wide, desperate. You twitch. You tug your sleeves. You smooth your red, red tie and buttons and count to ten. The chains stick out from the gap and you want to shove them away. The world is dark and black and hard and stiff on your back. It smells like oils and leather and rot. 

Your eyes flicker open and closed. You cross your hands over your chest. You think of your last chat with Roxy. Your present to Jane. 

Your cheeks feel wet and all you see is the backs of your red, red eyelids. 

\- 

You shove open the lid. It clangs to the ground as you push yourself up. You jump to your desk, scowling at the clean floor and flickering red, red light from above. Feet slam hard on the cold floor as you shove away your boxes, your plans, your paper. You unlock your foot and chuck the one clamp far to the other side of the room. 

You empty the mess back onto the floor. You feel yourself grinning wider and wider, throwing down blank paper and boxes. There sits your key to freedom. Not the one your sister has, but instead, one you got yourself. Beside your computer, underneath printouts of those scandalous pictures you forced Dirk to draw. 

You pick up the saw, examining it carefully, the way the silver and steel glint and shift before your red, red eyes. You sit. The chain clinks, taunting and loud. You scowl at it. You stretch out your leg and begin. 

Pain shoots through your body, hot and fierce, cobwebs and threads of pain from your leg to your head. You squint, tearing pant and flesh, feeling the grin spread far across your cheeks as hunks of green come falling apart off the very bone. You dig and tear and fuck if your cheeks aren't damp, but the grin never lessens as you watch. A pool forms beneath your body, deep and saturated and burning with hue. It forms into a red, red puddle. It soaks your clothes, your flesh. your bone. 

But it's yours, not hers. You have the red, red liquid flowing from your body, and her hideous lime can be used to paint the path of freedom, paint everything you love. Everything you wear. A mockery to her inferiority. 

You shift back, free from the chains and free from the room, and you drag yourself towards the ladder. The effort blinds you, shooting the scarring, ebbing pain back through your chest, but it does not matter. The air grows hotter and thicker and you feel the breeze touch your face. You collapse just beside the hole. You crawl until you are seven feet away from it. 

You close your eyes, forcing your body onto your one, good leg. You take a deep breath, and open them again. You let out a laugh as you take your first, shaking breath as a free man under the red, red sky.


End file.
